


Nightfall

by Nighthaunting



Category: Warhammer - All Media Types, Warhammer 40.000
Genre: 'amorous' is going a bit far for this but yeah, Gen, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-09
Updated: 2016-05-09
Packaged: 2018-06-07 08:34:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6796852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nighthaunting/pseuds/Nighthaunting
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>for the prompt: Lygerastia - The condition of one who is only amorous when the lights are out. </p>
            </blockquote>





	Nightfall

It’s dark on the _Nightfall_. All ships of the VIII Legion exist in a permanent night—the serfs with their lamp packs darting around in the corridors like glowbugs and the instrument lights on the bridge being the only constant form of illumination outside the medicae, and even there the lights are dimmed—but on the chariot of their Primarch, that night is absolute.

The Night Haunter is pleased by the darkness, he sees as though it were day, and it is gentle on his eyes. The Light is painful; even the lights that cannot be seen by, or explained to, others. It dilutes him, draws away his purpose—his shroud, really, _he will be cloaked in it and it will lay him down_ —

Konrad Curze opens his eyes in the blackness of his rooms, deep in the heart of his flagship. It is gentle on his eyes, the way even the lumen-infested nights of his sunless homeworld had never been. If he bothered, he could haunt the bridge without the serfs and officers ever even realizing he was there, and look out the wide viewport windows at the tiny pinpricks of the stars. From where he would be standing— _hanging_ —it would be just the same as looking down on a huge sprawling city. The galaxy is rife with sin. _The Night Haunter is justice upon it he is cloaked in the night itself and his eyes are dark and he_ **comes**.

He could remember clearly—Primarchs are unable to forget anything it is a _curse a curse a curse a curse a curse_ gift of their Father’s creation—the blindness when the Emperor came to Nostramo. He could see nothing _he could see everything finally all futures and he knew the path his would take he was going to die a madman in a hollow crown and a feathered cloak_ the bright glow that emanated from Him causing his eyes to water and spots to dance in his vision.

Fulgrim’s palace of mirrors and vanity and trying desperately to get away from the filth of his homeworld is just as bright, just as blinding. Inducing just as much torpidity in him. It is painful to be left to his visions without the darkness there to balm him, to give him the power to try dancing into and away from what they foretell.

It is dark on the _Nightfall_. It is gentle on his eyes. _The Night Haunter will come for you all._


End file.
